Alfred didn't sleep well that night or at least not as well has he had hoped to. When he had rested his head down on the pillow that night Alfred expected to drift off to a peaceful dreamless slumber that would carry him into the next morning (The American even gave up an offer at love making because of his exhaustion). That was not what he got. All the American received was a horrible night filled with nothing but awful dreams and nightmares plaguing his already restless mind.

A reflection. His reflection. The same wheat blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and strong facial features. Every line of his jaw, every curve of his lips, every freckle, pore, and wrinkle in all the exact same places. A face so identical yet so very different. The reflection's eyes were steely and cold as if the shine and soul had been sucked clean out of them. A cruel, malicious form of mirth stirred ever so slowly in the depths of those eyes like black clouds gathering before a horrible, destructive storm. Those eyes… they haunted Alfred's memories, his conscious, and his dreams and would forever continue to do so.

"Ya'll better mark my words Alfred F. Jones. I am never gonna fade away. As long as there are still folks in the south that support my ways I will remain. You may have the control, but I'll always be at the back of your mind just waitin' for a chance to rise up again. You will never be rid of me."

The echoing words of the warning promise he had heard over a century and a half ago. The words spoken in that smooth accented voice from between pursed lips around cigarette lingered in Alfred's mind and made unnatural chills crawl up and down his spine like insects.

"You will never be rid of me." Something gripped Alfred around the wrist something cold, calloused, and dry like the skin of a venomous rattle snake. With terror seizing his thoughts and limbs in their icy clutches Alfred looked down and saw a hand wrapped around his wrist, the hand of the reflection in the mirror. A sneer spread up over a crooked set of tobacco stained teeth, an evil looking smile that only made Alfred's heart speed with his growing fear.

"You will never, ever, ever be rid of me. No matter how much you fight, no matter how much you flee. I am you and you are me. We are the same." The hand began to pull Alfred into the surface of the mirror; its shining glass surface slowly sucking him in to its endless black abyss.

"What the… n- no please… I won… y-you can't…" Alfred tried desperately to form any sort of protest but every single attempt failed miserably and the words died on his tongue before he could even give them voice.

"Oh, but I can… and I will." Alfred found himself suddenly forcefully pushed into the mirror and he was now looking out into the world from the dark abyss of the Black Box; his other self only sneering at him again as he reveled in the sight of his counterpart's misery.

Arthur was there… he was sitting on the bed… reading some book… completely unaware of the danger at hand. "Jackson! Don't you dare hurt him! I swear to god you lay one scratch on him and I'll kill you!" Alfred screamed at the top his lungs; fists pounding on the glass in a futile effort to break through its strong hold. Not even his inhuman strength could help now. Jackson smirked the most crooked and twisted sneer as he sauntered towards the defenseless Arthur. A wolf in sheep's clothing was what Jackson was. The confederate American's thick, calloused hands ever so gingerly traveled up Arthur's thin arms, his shoulders, around his neck and….

"Arthur!" Alfred screamed desperately as he jolted upright out of bed; chest heaving with struggling gasps and sticky sweat glistening over his bare exposed torso. Alfred's wide blue eyes flickered back and forth as he drank in the darkened night time scenery of his hotel room.

"Alfred," Arthur's familiar voice floated into his ears. The American turned his head and saw that Arthur too had woken up with the episode that had unfolded. "What's wrong, pet? Did something happen?" Even in the darkness Alfred could still see Arthur endless green eyes glowing with concern.

Arthur was here, completely unharmed with no one else- especially not Jackson- in sight. Alfred drew the covers back- ignoring Arthur's qualms- and walked over to the dresser; flicking on the lamp next to it and staring himself down in the mirror. It wasn't like his dream. The reflection in the mirror was his own and no one else's, but his own. The American deeply searched his eyes, looking for a glimmer of that horrible steely malice that had been there in his dream. There was nothing; only the same sky blue shade of his irises that had always been there. "Alfred what's going? Are you alright?" Arthur sounded like he was becoming panicked, but then again who wouldn't when their fiancé just woke up screaming, jumped out of bed, and stared himself down in the mirror all at 3:15 in the morning. "Please, love, you're starting to scare me."

Alfred sighed heavily, flicking off the light again and blindly making his way back over to the bed where Arthur was still anxiously waiting for some kind of explanation. As soon as Alfred crawled back onto the bed he instantly wrapped his arms around Arthur; holding him close, breathing in the scent he carried, the feel of his smooth pale skin and soft unruly blonde hair. "Oh god Artie… I-I'm sorry I just… oh god I had the worst dream…" Alfred explained breathlessly as he just continued to grip onto his fiancé as if he was the only thing binding him to this world.

Arthur sighed softly; the warm tickle of the Briton's breath providing a feeling of comfort for Alfred. "It's alright Alfred, it was only a dream." The Briton soothed as his hands traveled upwards; his arms wrapping around Alfred's shoulders so he could soothingly stroke the American's mused locks of dark blonde hair.

Alfred lay back down on the bed- taking Arthur with him as he did so. "I just… I just had this dream and… a-and someone hurt you and… it was so awful…" The American said between breaths as he struggled to get rid of the mental image of Jackson's hands wrapped around Arthur's slender neck.

"Shh," Arthur tenderly soothed his frazzled fiancé as he gently caressed the American's face. "Don't worry, pet, I'm fine and no one's going to hurt me. It was only a dream." There was nothing wrong. There was no need to worry. Here Arthur was completely unharmed and Alfred was in total control of his body. There was no immediate danger in sight for the couple so Alfred just had to calm down and relax lest he cause Arthur's concern to grow. The American merely nodded his head against Arthur's chest and closed his eyes as he attempted to drift back off to sleep using the feeling of Arthur curled up next to him as a comfort for peaceful dreams. Relax, breathe, convince, calm down….

When the harsh morning sunlight began to stream in through a crack in the hotel room's thick curtains (Those awful velvety curtains that never fully closed the right way) Alfred's eyes cracked open- still tired and blood shot. Even after Alfred had woken up from his nightmare and fell asleep with Arthur wrapped safely in his arms his mind was still restless and he actually truly slept for no more than maybe a few hours at best.

The American rolled over and rested his forearm over his dry exhausted eyes. "Well good morning sunshine." A lovingly sarcastic tone resounded from the other side of him. Until that moment Alfred hadn't realized that Arthur was no longer in bed next to him, but already up, dressed, and ready. The Briton was standing by the door closing it softly behind him as if someone had just left. "You woke up just in the nick of time then again it doesn't surprise me that the smell of food has stirred you from your sleep." He said with a small snicker.

Alfred sat up slowly as he gazed about the room with his sleepy, bleary eyed gaze. As he did so he noticed two trays sitting on the table each with plates piled high with waffles drizzled in whipped cream and powdered sugar, bacon, and toast, along with tall cool glasses of orange juice. "I took the liberty of ordering a bit of room service for us seeing as how it didn't look like you were going to wake up to go downstairs for breakfast anytime soon." Arthur claimed as he moved back across the room to the plates that had been set on the table. "Well come on then. Are you just going to sit there and blankly stare or are you still half asleep." Arthur inquired as he sat down in one of the chairs and pulled a tray of food in his direction.

Alfred was nearly a zombie as he got up from bed and slowly shuffled to the table; Arthur's worried green eyed gaze following him all the while. "Alfred… are you alright?"

The American looked up at his fiancé, "What…? Oh yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just still kinda sleepy after last night…" Alfred explained as he came and took the seat across from Arthur; pulling the food tray towards him so he could chow down.

Arthur gazed over at Alfred from over the rim of his orange juice glass; his green eyes wary and carefully scrutinizing the American's expression. "I suppose… you seemed rather frazzled when you woke up from your dream." Arthur commented as he gingerly placed the glass back down on the table; using his pinky to cushion its fall like the proper gentleman he was. A layer of silence settled on them after that; nothing, but the sounds of forks and knives scraping against plates.

Alfred was still so exhausted. His mind was nothing, but a haze clouded over with fatigue and visions of last night's dream. Alfred was sure that the place he was currently sitting in was indeed reality so here Arthur was sitting safe and sound, but… was that dream a premonition or just a figment caused by the American's paranoid state? In the one-hundred and forty-five years that had passed since the end of the civil war Jackson had never once regained control of the body so why would now be any different? Sure there were still people that supported the confederate ways living in the south, but that power didn't overshadow that of the union. Alfred had no need to worry… right?

"Alfred," Arthur's voice floated into Alfred's ear causing the American to stop mid bite and gaze over at his fiancé across the table. "You still don't seem like yourself today. Is your head still bothering you?" The Briton asked curiously as he cut himself a small piece of waffle.

Now that he thought about it Alfred's head didn't hurt like it had yesterday. The only thing that was bothering him currently was his lack of sleep- nothing else. "No, it feels much better today, I'm just tired is all." Alfred reassured.

The Briton gazed at Alfred for a moment; carefully inspecting the American's face with those piercing green eyes. "Well if you're still tired we can take it easy today, I don't mind."

"No, no I want to go out today. The beaches here are real nice and I want you to see them." Alfred replied.

"Really it's alright Alfred. If you're not feeling up to it I'm perfectly content in just staying here."

At that moment Alfred thanked his lucky stars for the wonders of Hollywood and how he could make himself look as bright and cheery as ever on the outside while on the inside he was slowly falling apart. The American turned on the grin a beaming and bright as ever, "No way Artie you know me, I can't stand staying inside all day. I'm perfectly fine, I'll just go to bed a little early tonight."

Arthur seemed a bit confused at Alfred's sudden change in disposition, but it also seemed like he was thankful for seeing that wonderful smile once again gracing the American's lips. "Well… I guess if you're really up to it. But if you don't feel good again we'll come straight back home, understood?"

"Crystal, Artie." Alfred grinned before shoveling in what was left of his breakfast and washing it all down with a giant gulp of orange juice. "Well'p, I'm gonna go hop in the shower before we head out, kay?" The American said as he stood up from his chair. Arthur gave a small nod of acknowledgement before his green eyed gaze turned back down to the complimentary newspaper the hotel had placed outside their door.

Alfred retreated across the room and into the bathroom where he pushed the door closed behind him and clicked the lock into place. After that he turned on the shower so that sound of the pounding water would drown out his words. It seemed as though he had to have a little chat with his other self. Alfred looked at himself in the mirror; straight into the eyes so that he looked past his own eyes and into Jackson's. "Alright Jackson, I know all this shit has got to be something you're doing. What did I tell you yesterday? You agreed that you weren't gonna pull anything." There was no response, just the echo of his own voice on the walls and the drone of the shower in the distance.

Alfred sighed heavily before letting out a single dry laugh, "I should've known you weren't gonna keep your word. You're nothing but a dirty snake and you always have been…. Whatever it is you're doing, Jackson, it's gonna stop. You have absolutely no control over me because the confederacy lost. Even if there are still people that support your ways their power doesn't even come close to the power of the union." There was still no response from the confederate American even though Alfred was well aware that he was listening. "Everything you're trying to do is nothing and it'll do nothing. All you're doing is bruiting like a kid and throwing darts at the side of my head. Do us all a favor Jackie and just stay in that box where you belong." There was still no response from Jackson as Alfred turned away from the mirror and slipped of his pajama pants before stepping into the shower and letting the hot stream of water soothing his aching muscles and weary mind.

Jackson was listening. He heard every little word that Alfred had spoken to him, but whether or not he wanted to reply to those words was Jackson's choice. The confederate American sat back in his invisible seat lazily; legs stretched out in front of him and arms across behind his head. He hummed to himself as he licked his dry lips, "Let's see… should I be nice and let him have his day or should I be mean and mess with his mind more?" Jackson thought about it for a brief second even though he knew exactly which option he was going to pick. "Well now I never have been one to just lie down and take orders, now have I?" Jackson chuckled as he slid down further into his seat. "Though I must say… I think the slow painful torture is much more entertaining. We'll make him suffer a bit now won't we?" He smiled his yellow, crooked toothed sneer and chuckled darkly to himself as the wheels started turning behind those steely blue eyes.

Okay so small change in plans with the story. I know I said the real power struggle would start this chapter, but I must agree with Jackson slowly torturing Alfred is more entertaining. (Oh god I'm a horrible person aren't I?) I'm so sorry Al, you know I really love you- it's just tough love.

Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for the love so far!